The Day the Affair Stops Feeling Special

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
— Margaret Atwood

Nobody marks this day on a calendar, because nobody knows when it is. There doesn’t have to be any fight or big reveal, either, just something you feel, even if you may not want to admit it.

First, the texts: they don’t stop, but they just spread out meaning; what used to be instant becomes later. Paragraphs are replaced by reactions, and you catch yourself checking your phone and feeling half a second of relief when there is nothing there.

The urgency goes next: no more sneaking off, like the building has been hijacked. The adrenaline has stopped filling the small gaps of the day. Now, you still want them, but you are no longer willing to rearrange your life to prove it. You tell yourself that it is maturity or comfort all you want, but it isn’t.

The excitement starts feeling normal, but normal is dangerous to a secret. You have stopped romanticizing the obstacles, and you begin to notice how often the same conversations repeat, and the compliments just feel recycled.

“You still want them, but you are no longer willing to rearrange your life to prove it.”

Now the risks also start looking less heroic and more of an inconvenience, but what is really strange is that nothing is technically wrong. I mean, they are still attractive and still there, but it is just that the spell is broken. So, what once felt like an escape now feels like routine, and the fantasy is now asking for maintenance, and you thought fantasies weren’t supposed to do that.

Most affair partners don’t talk about this much because it doesn’t fit the story. However, almost everyone who has been there knows it. This phase is usually the first unmistakable crack in a fantasy turning into real life, and once that crack, the fantasy never “recovers.”